


Moon Madness (And Other Types, As Well)

by KeepCalmLoveSeverus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepCalmLoveSeverus/pseuds/KeepCalmLoveSeverus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius knows just how to confront Remus -- and then comfort him. No specific book, but could easily be canon compliant with OotP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moon Madness (And Other Types, As Well)

Written for Cuddlepuss on deviantArt.

* * *

Remus Lupin was accustomed to the dizzying sensations that heralded the full moon's arrival each month. He had been for a long time, actually. He was accustomed to the wants and desires that rose up in his blood, under his skin, gnawing at him relentlessly even as he refused to give in to them, and knew that they would pass -- eventually. Of course, that didn't make them any easier to ignore for the duration of his moon madness, but it gave him just enough hope to hold out. He had lived with his animalistic urges and thoughts since he was a very young boy, had lived with the impression that he was slowly losing his mind for the three days leading up to the full moon each month of the long, intervening years since then. He had thought, in his youth, that with time he would gain a resistance, or tolerance.

Time had proven herself to be a complete and utter bitch, though, and him to be wrong. Being accustomed to something occurring was not the same as resisting it, or having its effects dulled. Every month the moon seemed to snatch a little more of himself from him, and every month it took just that little bit longer for the moon to release him back to humanity, to sanity. His greatest fear, underneath all of the less pressing ones, was that he would eventually become like the werewolf who had savaged him, Fenrir Greyback: more beast than man, even when the moon waned and waxed gibbous. 

The invention of the Wolfsbane Potion had helped greatly with the madness, at least at first, and Remus was inexpressibly grateful that his association with Albus Dumbledore had provided him with access to it, even if that access came accompanied by a reminder of the guilt he felt every time he looked at or thought of Severus Snape. 

As always, when Remus thought of Snape he winced guiltily. He had never defended Snape when James had set in on him, when James and Sirius would gang up on the younger boy, had never even _attempted_ to discourage them from their wrongful persecution. And then Sirius had told him how to get past the Whomping Willow ... Remus still thought that if he had only tried to reign Sirius and James in long before then, it would never have gone that far. 

He loved Sirius and James, of course he did, but ... He couldn't condone their actions, or even his own. Sure, he would defend James to Harry, but that was because no boy should hear that his father hadn't been the dashing hero death had made him seem. In his own thoughts he was free to note that people who had known James during their school years had glossed over his less seemly actions because of the heroism of his demise; those who were his true friends remembered him as he had been, flaws and all, and loved him despite them. 

And Sirius ... Sirius was not coping with confinement to his loathed childhood house well, even if Remus was usually there to dispel the worst of the memories. Taking him to task for the way he treated Snape when the Potions Master delivered the Wolfsbane would seem like he was siding with Snape and abandoning Sirius, which would only serve to send Sirius further into his destructively gloomy musings. Sirius was a wild card at the worst of times, but when he had something to focus on he was as dependable as anyone could wish; he needed a project, something more important than feeding a hippogriff dead rats every few days. 

Azkaban had drained most of the life from Sirius, had stunted his emotional growth so that he still seemed like a tempestuous teenager at times, but he behaved the most mature when he was with Remus, for some reason. Sometimes the werewolf could even see flashes or the mature adult Sirius could have been, had Pettigrew not been a snivelling, loathsome, traitorous little toady. 

Remus was fond of that adult Sirius. If he was being honest with himself, he was more than _fond_ of Sirius, and had been for some time now. Sirius's apparent betrayal had torn at Remus's confidence and heart for years, even though he never quite fully believed it -- but it had been easier to accept everyone else's assumptions that Sirius had simply regressed to his family's well-known beliefs. 

It seemed to Remus that he had always chosen the easier, less different path in life. The path that involved the least arguments, the least attention directed his way. Truthfully, Remus was such a coward that he wondered just how the Sorting Hat could ever have thought he belonged in Gryffindor. It didn't take any courage at all to fade into the woodwork, to pretend that you weren't ashamed of your friends and disgusted with their behaviour at times. 

These thoughts were the ones Remus was taunted by when the moon madness was upon him. He began to forget what was true, and what wasn't, and what he had and hadn't done. Sometimes he even slipped into hallucinations that could last for hours. 

It was torment, pure and simple, but a torment he thought he deserved as punishment for his many failings, his overwhelming cowardice. That belief was why he never sought the relief he knew he could get from the moon madness, never looked for it in the period leading up to the full moon. Granted, he might have had to go to Knockturn Alley to find a place that would cater to his tastes, but he _could_ have gained that relief, however temporary. But he didn't. He never asked for that comfort, because he didn't feel he deserved it. He never _would_ ask for release from the torture. 

And he didn't. He was set in the idea that he didn't deserve it, didn't need it; he was fine just the way he was, even if he was going a little mad. Of course, he hadn't counted on Sirius Black and his tenacious loyalty to his last living friend. 

* * *

"Come on, Moony, just like old times," cajoled Sirius, attempting to convince Remus that sneaking out to Muggle London for a bit was a good idea. He'd vacillated between multiple tactics over the last hour, not realizing that each one was more irritating and less effective than the last, and Remus's nerves were already stretched taut thanks to the looming full moon. It wouldn't take much more to send him plunging over the edge of irrational emotion, a state that usually led him to say things he didn't mean in the slightest but that always hurt whoever they were directed at.

Finally, after several more minutes of whinging on Sirius's part, it happened, and Remus's control snapped. Before he could check himself, he snarled, "For fuck's sake, Sirius, _no!_ Grow up and realize it's too bloody dangerous! Learn to think about someone other than yourself for once!" Remus wasn't sure, later, if it was the moon madness, his own repressed desires, or a combination of both that caused him to lash out at Sirius, but he didn't really care when the end result felt so pleasant. 

He experienced a nice twinge of satisfaction at seeing Sirius stop his pacing midstep, mouth frozen half-open in a baffled gape; the man had been wearing more holes in the once grand rugs of the Black library than the unfortunate things could afford and talking enough to ruffle the pages of the mostly Dark books, and Remus was quite fed up with it. He endured everything in his life without complaint, only to have to listen to Sirius's tawdry laundry list of 'injustices' that, in truth, amounted to nothing more than childishness and small inconveniences. Sirius had never once expressed remorse for his actions, never once implied that he felt bad in any way at all, so perhaps this was the universe's way of punishing him. 

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Remus realized that his moon madness had taken control for too long of a moment, and he relented, scrubbing a tired hand over an even more haggard face. He couldn't ever hold onto the vicious pleasure that came with the madness, not without feeling like he was becoming _more_ of a monster than he already was. 

"I'm sorry, Sirius. It's just ..." Remus faltered, unsure of how much his friend actually knew about moon madness and trying to gather the words to explain. "The full moon's only two nights away. It tugs at me, pulls the wolf forward more than the man; it makes me worry ... I always worry that I'll lose myself completely, that this moon will be my last sane one. Each month ... I feel just that extra bit feral, even before the change. I'm losing myself, and it's ... terrifying." 

Remus stared at his fingers, knotted in his lap as a stark white contrast to his charcoal grey robes, so that he wouldn't have to see the look of pity -- or worse, contempt -- on his oldest friend's face; he was so focused on avoiding Sirius's gaze that even his heightened werewolf senses didn't keep him from being surprised when the other man silently moved towards him and placed a warm, gentle hand on his knee. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" _There_ was the semi-mature man that Sirius was capable of being. His eyes were sincere when Remus darted a single, hesitant glance up, and his tone was compassionate and nonjudgemental. 

Remus actually thought, for one long insane minute, about answering plainly, divulging his most hidden, most denied yearnings, but then he snapped back to himself, remembered his self-imposed penance, and just shook his head slowly. He did not, however, lie. He _could_ not, not to Sirius, who was always painfully honest with him, even when he didn't want him to be. 

"There's nothing I would, in good conscience, ask you to do. The Wolfsbane helps, some, but I still ... teeter on the brink. Some moons are simply worse than others. This time is no exception." Although, this month was a particularly bad one; he could barely restrain himself from lunging at the man whose hand still rested lightly on his thigh -- When had it slid so far up? -- and he was unable to discern which part of him would be in control if he _did_ lunge -- the side that wanted to jump Sirius's bones, or gnaw on them. 

For his part, Sirius was much sharper than most gave him credit for. He'd grown up around Slytherins, and as such could recognize a cleverly worded evasion as opposed to a true denial with the best of them. That, coupled with the alarming cloud that had descended upon Remus's eyes, put his senses on high alert, and he pulled out all the stops on his charming influence -- several generations back in the family there was an actual Veela, and Sirius had gotten a hearty dose of the recessive allure -- in a well-meant effort to finagle the truth out of a man he knew better, almost, than himself at times. 

"Remus," Sirius began, voice a few decibles lower than usual, and was oddly satisfied to see the responsive shudder that ran through Remus's wiry frame at the tone, "you know I'll help you any way I can, don't you? You know nothing would make me happier?" 

"Yes, Sirius, I know," replied Remus remotely, too distracted with controlling his baser impulses to notice how neatly he was being set up. His eyes proved his struggle to be futile as they remained fevered and hazy, something Sirius was quick to pick up on. 

"Then _why_ ," pounced Sirius with a triumphant gleam, "won't you tell me whatever it is that _would_ help you?" 

A flash of panic cleared Remus's mind long enough for him to realize he might actually be backed into a corner -- he'd never been able to lie convincingly to anyone, much less Sirius, especially when the latter was looking at him like that, all beseeching and pouty. It was one of the reasons Remus had always ended up helping him and James with their essays at school, and it seemed the talent hadn't left Sirius during his stay in Azkaban. 

Still, Remus tried. For the sake of their continued friendship, if not his pride. He had very few illusions about Sirius's feelings towards him --platonic, and nothing further -- and this information could make him feel pressured, then guilty, then vindictive, and their friendship would be over. (So, perhaps Remus just had illusions of the wrong sort, really.) 

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius." 

Sirius didn't even bother to disguise his skeptical frown; Remus was still as transparent now as he had been twenty years ago. Then he adopted the wounded expression he'd always used to great effect on his friends in the past. "Don't you trust me enough to tell me? You think I'm reckless, too, is that it?" 

Poor Remus never stood a chance, not verbally sparring with someone who'd been raised by Slytherins. He rushed to soothe Sirius's 'hurt feelings', saying, "No, Sirius, that's not it at all! I'd trust you with my life!" 

"So tell me how to help you!" demanded Sirius, closing in for the kill. "Unless those are just empty words." 

_Damn,_ cursed the small portion of Remus's brain that was still rational as he closed his eyes hesitantly, and he prepared to answer with great reluctance. "It's not ... Once you know you won't want to do it. I was trying to keep you from feeling like you had to, or guilty that you wouldn't. I was trying not to make you ... uncomfortable." 

Sirius eyed him shrewdly. "The only thing that makes me uncomfortable is knowing a friend is suffering, and that I can help, but not knowing how. So tell me. C'mon," his tone turned warm and cajolingly playful, putting Remus in mind of the brightly dancing flames in the fireplace behind Sirius, "it can't be _that_ bad, Moony. Unless I have to chop your arm off or something, because I won't do that." 

Sirius scrunched his nose up in a comical expression of affected distaste, and that carefree attitude, one Remus hadn't seen from his friend for more than a brief second since Voldemort's first fall, made him toss all of his concrete attitudes in the air. He must have more than made up for his actions, he'd been paying penance for well over twenty years, and this was the gods' way of letting him know. He actually had the opportunity to be happy, for once, even if it might only be for one night -- although he was hoping for longer, much longer, with Sirius. 

And so, with those thoughts foremost in his mind, he leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Sirius's face, then gently brushed his lips against his friend's. Remus marvelled at how soft and lush they were for a moment, then pulled back with ill-disguised reluctance and highly-visible trepidation to see a dumbstruck, startled-deer expression on Sirius's own face. His stomach sank a little, and he began frantically scrabbling for an explanation, cold terror temporarily holding the moon madness at bay. 

* * *

Sirius was at a bit of a loss as to what had just happened. He was vaguely certain that his years in Azkaban had caught up with him -- because there was no way his life could suddenly have become this wonderful. He'd been pining over Remus for the better part of three decades, all throughout their school years, even -- it was what had, in the main, driven him to work at becoming an Animagus as hard as he had -- and it was just now that Remus felt the same? He was definitely half-mad, he had to be.

His lips were actually tingling -- _tingling_ \-- and as he brought wondering fingers up to tentatively explore them, to search for some fabulous transformation, he realized Remus was blabbering about something, a nervous habit he'd never quite managed to shake, even upon leaving adolescence far behind. 

Sirius tuned in just in time to hear the tail-end. " -- psychology; it's a Muggle science, but it's still valid." Remus finally lapsed into tense silence, an expression similar to a woebegone puppy's on his face, even as a tentative hope lurked in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, what? I was ... years away," said Sirius upon realizing some response was expected of him. 

Sirius could practically see Remus repress the urge to roll his eyes and repeat himself word for word, like he had when helping the less studious Marauders with their numerous essays. It brought a small smile to his face, one that grew further as he listened to Remus's paraphrased reiteration. 

"Touching ... helps keep the moon madness back. It reminds me that I'm human, not an animal." For a moment, they had been nothing but old friends again, but now Remus had remembered his nerves and couldn't meet Sirius's eyes in case he saw rejection there. "Muggles have done studies about how touch helps people stay sane, helps remind them what's real and what isn't. That's --" He faltered, then gained steam again. "It's just that, because the moon madness is so all-consuming, simple contact can't really ... do much." Finished talking, he hoped Sirius would be able to make further connections from there without more of his input. 

He wasn't disappointed. In fact, Sirius surprised Remus by handling the situation with a wordless tact that was almost as seductive as his actions. 

* * *

"So," Sirius grinned wickedly, grabbing one of Remus's hands in his own, "this doesn't help?" His tone was one of unassuming innocence, completely at odds with his expression.

Gulping and barely daring to breathe hope, Remus stammered out a trembling, "N-no." 

"And this," Sirius stood up and enfolded Remus in his arms from behind, leaning in to hotly whisper the conclusion of his sentence, "this won't do anything to help either?" 

The warm, wet air brushing against the sensitive outer shell of Remus's ear sent a shudder running through his lean frame as a corresponding jolt shot from there to the base of his spine, pooling decadently in the pit of his stomach. "W-what --?" he tried to ask. 

"Ssh," soothed Sirius. "Let me help you. I want to, Remus. I want _you._ I want _this._ " Evidence to support his claim nestled tightly against Remus due to their intimate embrace. It was indescribably titillating for Remus, knowing that he had caused such obvious arousal. "Do you?" 

"Yesss," he all but moaned, unable to keep himself from grinding back against Sirius's erection like a cat in heat. A haze was descending over his thoughts, but it was nothing like the moon madness, it was so much more welcome, so much more pleasurable. 

Sirius's chuckle was deep, rumbling around in his chest and promising deliciously wanton things. Where his words had previously brushed Remus's ear, his tongue now outlined a wet, hot trail, continuing down to his exposed neck, which Sirius then peppered with light, open-mouthed kisses, until Remus was vibrating with need and whimpering with every other breath. His trousers provided just enough friction against his cock to tantalize him, but not enough to send him over the edge, and he was on the verge of just ripping them off in frustration. 

Sirius loved how responsive Remus was, how easily he abandoned his inhibitions and showed his passion to his new lover. He knew if he could reach more of Remus's skin, he'd have the werewolf screaming his name so loudly the Muggles down the street would be able to hear him. In order to work on this theory, Sirius slipped his hands agonizingly slowly up Remus's chest, lightly pressing him even tighter against his crotch as he expertly unfastened Remus's cloak and most of the buttons of his robes, under which he wore no shirt. 

When the robes were loosened enough to be slipped off, Sirius let his fingers dance over Remus's exposed skin and a little thrill ran through him at the sight of his friend's -- lover's? -- nipples puckering in response; his dick swelled to further unsuspected hardness when Remus turned around in his embrace and reached up to fumble eagerly with his own clothing, mewling in frustration when the buttons refused to come out of their slots. 

Sirius gently took Remus's trembling hands in his own as a silent reassurance, then followed it with a verbal one for good measure. "Tonight is about you, Remus. You don't have to do anything you don't want." 

Remus's eyes were calm when they met his, even as they were lust-glazed, and a low, animalistic whine slipped from him, forcing Sirius to tamp down the urge to swoop in and ravish Remus's lips right then and there. His usually staid, straight-laced friend had released all of his uptightness, hiding nothing from him, and this knowledge only strengthened Sirius's love for him. "I _do_ want to," growled Remus fiercely. "I want to see you, taste you." 

And, really, that was such a terribly seductive thing to hear about himself, what else could he do but oblige Remus by muttering a quick charm to unfasten the small buttons that lined the front if his robes? The fabric, once released, gaped open to reveal that Sirius didn't wear anything under his robes but underwear -- a fact Remus seemed to greatly appreciate, if the way his hands attacked Sirius's newly-bared skin was any indication. They wandered up and down his rib cage, tracing the outline of each bone and the spaces between, before migrating up to rest warmly on Sirius's pectorals. 

Remus was so enthusiastic that Sirius had less than no time to feel self-conscious about his skeletal frame; he had gained some of his old weight back since escaping Azkaban and relocating to Grimmauld Place, but to him his ribs still seemed painfully evident and his chest tragically concave. However, Remus didn't seem to take notice of any of these flaws as he moved on to worship Sirius's nipples with his tongue. 

Sirius was already painfully aroused, with the pressure growing by the tongue-swipe, and he was afraid that if Remus kept it up, he'd be coming in his shorts like some inexperienced third-year -- it had, after all, been over thirteen years since he'd had anything remotely resembling sex, and even then it had been less than satisfying because he hadn't been with the one he yearned for, the one he wanted desperately, the one who was now laving his navel with his talented, too talented, mouth. In ordered to preserve what was left of his self-control, if not his dignity ( _that_ horse had already been shot in the face, what with the embarrassingly loud noises Sirius had been coaxed into making), Sirius caught Remus's face between his hands, drawing him up so that their lips could meet. 

Sirius could honestly say that he'd never been kissed so beautifully -- at least, he could've if he'd had the breath to speak at all. It seemed like Remus was drawing the oxygen up and out of him through their connected lips, tangled tongues. Remus was groaning and whining, and the vibrations travelled into Sirius and pooled in his stomach with electric heat; he was surprised Remus couldn't feel it through his skin, as their chests were touching and their lower bodies were rubbing against each other instinctively, trying to gain the release both knew would be cosmic. Sirius snaked his hands around to grasp Remus by the ass, pulling him so close it seemed he wanted to crawl inside the other man's skin -- which was actually a valid observation, he wanted to be as near to Remus as he could possibly get. Remus let out a low moan and rubbed himself that much harder against Sirius, loving the way the pain of Sirius nipping his bottom lip faded when their erections brushed off each other through their underwear. 

The animal had almost completely taken over Remus, driving away all of his insecurities, making him confident enough to press Sirius into the nearest armchair and straddle him, rolling his hips in a provocative way that rubbed Sirius's erection between his cheeks, causing Sirius to throw his head back and moan wildly. 

"Oh gods, Remus," panted Sirius. Whatever else he had been about to say was lost as Remus's hand confidently slipped beneath the waistband and gripped him firmly, caressing the velvety skin of his dick as though he'd never done anything else. 

"This," Remus murmured in a voice so low as to be called a growl. "I want it inside me." 

That did even less than nothing to clear the fog of desire in Sirius's brain, even though ten minutes ago he'd been perfectly focused on pleasuring Remus and Remus alone -- although a small ( _very_ small) corner of his mind noted that he hadn't expected this, hadn't thought Remus would actually want to go that far. There was also the fact that he seemed more than eager to be a bottom -- Sirius knew Remus wasn't an Alpha, but somehow that had led him to think that, given the opportunity, Remus would _want_ to be dominant for once. 

"Are you sure?" Sirius had the presence of mind to ask. After all, they'd skipped practically all foreplay, and even so he wasn't confident in his ability to last. Besides, this was for Remus's pleasure, to help Remus regain a grip on his sanity, and it was almost guaranteed to hurt him, at least at first, whether Sirius used magic to help ease it or not. 

"Sirius," snarled an impatient Remus, "if I were any more sure, I'd be the Pope.*" 

That settled it. With a wandless gesture, their remaining clothing vanished; now that they were touching completely, Sirius felt a rush of lust-fueled inspiration and stood up, supporting Remus's weight as the werewolf's legs wrapped around his waist. 

Another flicker of intent and Sirius had the dimming fire bursting into a hearty blaze, so that the rug in front of the hearth was pleasantly toasty by the time Sirius had deposited Remus on it. 

"Fine," he whispered, "but I'm going to do this right. I don't want you to have any regrets tomorrow." 

Remus, eyes wide, nodded eagerly. Sirius blanketed him with his body, their erections vying for space as Sirius bit at the tender skin of Remus's neck. Sirius knew he'd found the right spot when Remus's hips jolted up, seeking friction, and he settled in to shower it with attention until Remus was a mindless puddle of whining, groaning desire. 

Using the convulsive press of Remus's nails against his back as a guide, Sirius moved on to seek out every soft spot, every tender hollow, of his torso, drawing wonderful gasps and mewling sounds that fed his own arousal as he went. Finally, he reached Remus's cock, nestled in a patch of light brown curls that Sirius nuzzled with his nose; Remus smelled delectable, and his erection was glistening, weeping, from all the teasing Sirius had done. 

"Beautiful," whispered Sirius, and as his breath hit the over-sensitized skin of Remus's tip, the whole organ twitched toward his mouth, practically begging to be taken. 

Sirius, ever obliging, did just that, drawing pleasure of his own from Remus's loud, drawn-out groan as he wetly kissed the sides, then slid his mouth fully over his dick, taking him almost to the base. Sirius used his tongue to trace the sensitive vein he knew ran along the bottom, even as he applied suction with his cheeks to the rest of it. 

One hand slipped between Remus's legs to caress that nerve-riddled spot between balls and anus, the other pressing his hips down to keep him from choking Sirius with his responding enthusiasm; Sirius played with Remus's perineum for a few torturous moments, until he felt Remus's balls draw up in warning, and decided he was as prepared as he was ever going to get for the next part. 

Relinquishing its hold on Remus's erection, Sirius's mouth moved even further south, his tongue lightly flicking out at random and leaving wet patches on his sac and perineum before slipping out to work at the untried muscles of his anus; as Remus tightened around his tongue, Sirius couldn't help but imagine the same close heat wrapped around his cock, which was admittedly feeling a bit neglected at this late stage in the game. It was a heady vision, soon to become reality -- and after all those years of longing. 

Soon his body was relaxed enough for Sirius to replace his tongue with first one, then two saliva-coated fingers as he looked up at Remus's face: his eyes were closed, his jaw clenched in a grimace of delight, and every tendon in his neck stood taut against the skin as he suppressed the howl that was building up at the base of his throat, although whimpers were escaping out despite his best efforts. 

It was time. Remus was ready, Sirius was _definitely_ ready, and all that was left to do was to do it. Sirius conjured a slippery oil, thoroughly coated his own aching dick with it, then rubbed some into Remus as well. 

"Are you sure?" he asked one last time, wanting Remus to know he would stop if asked. 

Remus's eyes snapped open, and he suddenly reached out, pulling Sirius up to give him a scorching kiss. "I don't want anyone but you," he whispered against Sirius's parted lips. 

Which had the interesting effect of making Sirius tear up, even as he gently nudged and pressed his way inside Remus; Remus hissed, and Sirius made to pull back, worried he was hurting him too much, more than was normal, only to be dragged in almost to the hilt when Remus clutched at his ass and jerked forward. 

"Oh gods," moaned Sirius, Remus raising his voice in a chorus of agreement. Sirius stilled, even as Remus tried to raise his hips and coax him into action, wanting to feel the heat, oh the heat, of Remus, so wholly around him, so close they were one person now; he raised his eyes to Remus's, bestowed a hot, open-mouthed kiss upon him, and panted out a heartfelt, "I love you, Remus. I always have." 

Remus clenched around Sirius's dick as his chest and spine bowed up in response. Those words had hit him like electricity -- he couldn't remember anyone else ever saying them to him, and meaning them. His mother may have been a witch, but she'd been raised to fear werewolves, and even in her five-year-old son she couldn't find anything to love once the monster had taken over; his father had been a Muggle barely coping with his wife's magic, only to have his son infected by a beast he had thought even more mythical than witches and wizards. Neither of them had ever loved him, despite their familial obligations to do so, but Sirius did, Sirius did without the geas of family, and that made it so much more meaningful. 

Tears spilled forth from Remus's eyes as he whispered, "Oh, gods, Sirius, I love you, too. I love you, too." 

It became a litany that was shared between them as Sirius began to move, pulling out and pushing back in -- tentatively at first, then more frantically. Each time he hit Remus's prostate, his muscles' reflexive tightening pulled Sirius forward, causing him to hit it again, in a cycle that was wonderful and meaningful and soon had them both screaming a climax that was so intense it woke the portrait of Mrs. Black. 

Caught up in the after-glow of pleasure and feeling his sanity to finally be his own after so many years, Remus laughed long and loud as Sirius groaned and dropped his head to rest on his shoulder; they cuddled there, naked in front of the fire, discussing ways to get the nasty old harpy to stay silent permanently until they drifted into post-coital sleep, still covered in each other's fluids -- and not caring. 

Remus couldn't have been happier. Surely twenty years of atonement was enough? Surely he was allowed this fulfillment now? Of course he was. He'd been good. He'd made up for his years of inaction, really he had. 

And now he was hoping to enjoy many years of _action_ \-- with Sirius. 

* * *

*Not meant as a religious comment. More along the lines of the Pope is _sure_ there's a God, Remus is _sure_ he wants Sirius. That's all; a simple analogy. No flames, please.

* * *

A/N On a different note, feel free to comment and favorite!


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